


This Could Change Everything

by Mazeem



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:22:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazeem/pseuds/Mazeem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morgana's never defied Nimueh before, and she's certainly never run away to that hellhole Camelot before. She never would have, if it hadn't been for him. Merlin/Morgana, major canon divergence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Could Change Everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightfire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightfire/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this, twilightfire. I certainly enjoyed writing it, though it was a frantic three-day rush. XD *lastminuter*
> 
> This is my first time poating anything to Ao3 so I hope it's all ok.

Before Morgana had even woken enough to open her eyes, she was shivering from the cold and cringing towards the other half of the pile of rugs. But the woven wool was cool and empty under her squirming limbs, so she forced her eyes open and glared around.

The cave was dark. Although daylight showed misty and soft at the cave's mouth it was not enough to penetrate to the back where she was lying. The fire had gone out hours ago, judging by the look of the remains and lack of any smokey scent. Merlin was standing at the entrance to the cave with his back to her.

"I'm cold," she complained pointedly. Without looking at her, he clicked his fingers and the fire sprang energetically back into life. The silence was uncharacteristic. Morgana bit her lip, concern spoiling her pleasure at the sudden heat. "Did you hear it again?"

"Him," Merlin corrected her in a voice like steel. She drew in a breath to apologise, only to lose it in surprise as he turned and grinned at her. The change was unnerving. "It doesn't matter." He sauntered over to the fire and sat down next to her. "You woke me up yesterday ranting about skeletons with swords, so think of it as revenge." He poked her shoulder gently.

"I didn't try to freeze you to death," she said with a whine. He shrugged, seemingly unperturbed, and pulled her into a tight embrace. She shut her eyes and listened to his heartbeat and ragged, pained breathing. 

"Better?" he asked some time later.

"I am," she replied. He made no reply. "Are we close?" she asked at last.

Finally he looked at her properly. His eyes were hard and specks of gold danced in the blue. His jaw was set.

"Yes." The gold specks exploded into a pure sheen.

Her magic surged to meet his and she tilted her head to press her mouth against his slightly parted lips. Her eyes, as they slid shut, were gold too; twisting, lively flames in contrast to his steady sheen. They stayed like that, exchanging magic between them like air until his stopped tasting like metal and tears and blood, so that when she pulled away and stared at him his eyes were blue and soft and friendly again.

They ate, dressed, then packed their few belongings and had the usual argument over whether to get rid of any signs they had ever been there, or to make clear exactly who had been there.

"Paranoid hermit."

"Arrogant priestess."

Morgana scowled at him and stretched out her hand.

“Ic wieldee þæs héahsácerdes sweorde.”

The sword she had been given upon her ascension to High Priestess flew to her waiting hand. Automatically her fingers flexed around the ancient, worn decoration of the handle. Merlin pulled a face.

“Yeah, yeah, you show-off. I hate that thing.”

“I should care about your opinion, child?” She summoned her scabbard to her too, quickly buckling it on and sheathing the ancient sword.

Merlin stuck his tongue out. She smiled, pleased to have him back in good humour.

That was, until she realised he had dumped his messy bundle of clothes on top of her impeccably folded, ridiculously expensive priestess gown.

“Merlin!”

He laughed at her. “I still don’t understand why you insist on bringing that along.”

She glared even more and thrust her hand out. “Hiera cláþas áfléah feor!” Merlin’s clothes were thrown to all corners of the cave and she made sure that several of them landed in mud.

His face lit up and with a quick finger movement he made the last of her favourite dried venison strips that she had been saving to chew on the move land with a splat in another mud puddle. She shrieked her outrage. This was -war-.

Belongings, mud and ash from their fire whirled around them in a dizzying, intoxicating spiral that made Morgana laugh out loud even as she took one faux-menacing step after another towards Merlin. Their outstretched hands touched gently at the fingertips and their golden eyes met and everything crashed in a heap to the floor around them and they somehow ended up as tightly in each other’s arms as possible.

Eventually Morgana sank down off her tiptoes and stared up at him. His eyes still danced with magic, calling her own magic out of her skin to coil the dust into attractive patterns. She licked her tingling lips. It was all so new and so much still. She was better than this love-bitten foolish behaviour showed!

“I am amongst the highest echelons of the Old Religion. I am Morgana, a High Priestess of the Triple Goddess and a guardian of all that remains of the Old Religion.” She watched him avidly as she spoke, but it wasn’t until she reached the end of the familiar recital that she identified amusement carefully restrained in his expression. He stepped back from her and bobbed his head in a mockery of respect.

“And I am Merlin, the cave-dwelling son of a cave-dwelling hermit. Pleased to meet you, priestess.” Amusement bubbled from him in his squinting eyes and twitching cheeks, but it was Morgana who laughed at herself first.

A month ago she would never have laughed at her titles, her ‘duties most solemn’. A month ago she would never have dreamt of abandoning her entire way of life for a skinny, gangly younger man with dark hair and pale skin to match her own.

Just because he was brim-full of life and energy and reckless drive where she had been buried so deeply in the cold and stagnant past. 

Just because he could kiss almost as well as he could make her laugh. 

Just because he said please. 

Please help me, Priestess. 

Morgana. 

Please.

\--

They had travelled perhaps six or seven miles when her past caught up with them. It was angry.

_Morgana!_

Merlin swore very loudly and stomped off back the way they had come. Morgana rolled her eyes at his immature behaviour. As with every time this had happened in the past month, she was surprised that he could so easily overhear the mental communication. 

_What?_ She gloried in the rudeness. 

The Isle misses you. This was a new tactic, and it made Morgana bite her lip because she certainly missed it. The peace, the security … and the creature comforts. She had never gone so long without a magically heated bath before. Or a hairbrush. Why had she not brought a hairbrush?

_You are nearing Camelot._

_I know. That’s the point._ She rolled her eyes. 

_You must not go there!_ The voice in her head rose to a newly frantic pitch, and Morgana felt a twinge of sympathy for the hard, unforgiving woman who had raised her as a daughter.

_I’ll be fine, Nimueh._ Subconsciously she traced a sign of protection on the tree beside her. _Uther’s killed off anyone in his kingdom with a scrap of magical sensitivity; no-one will even know we’re there until it’s too late._

_People who underestimated King Uther Pendragon ended up dead in any number of unpleasant ways. I know you, Morgana. You and this boy, you think you’re invincible. You can’t see how the passing years have made him more fanatical, not less. These days he may even make a direct move against you, a High Priestess for he has forgotten what we are and what we stand for; he has forgotten everything about magic apart from his hatred._

_I –_

_Please, Morgana. If you must do this, don’t underestimate Pendragon._

_I –_  
 _Morgana’s mind was frozen by the beseeching tone of Nimueh’s speech. She had never heard the older woman sound as concerned before, or as … scared._

_We won’t._ Merlin’s mental voice cut through Morgana’s still-forming reply. She whirled to face him, shocked. It was bad manners to interrupt like that, just as it would be in a spoken conversation. She hadn’t even been aware he knew how.

Her outrage cooled to a lump in the pit of her stomach as she saw him crouched back against a tree about eight feet away, picking at the moss with that horrible dark, closed expression on his face.

_We won’t,_ he repeated. _Trust me, High Priestess, the one thing I will never ever do is treat Uther as anything other than the most dangerous enemy magic knows._

_Why in the world would I trust a word you say? I am not Morgana, peasant boy._  
 _No, she’s a lot prettier,_ he replied with an attempt at levity that was utterly undermined by the memories that flickered barely visibly under his thoughts. 

_A large, secluded cave; stood in front of it was a longhaired middle-aged man with unhappy eyes. Then the sound of clashing swords and sudden, awful scarlet blood, and grief that exploded the air around him._

Now Morgana knew for certain that Merlin didn’t really know what he was doing, since the first and most important lesson in thought-speak was how to hide everything else away. 

Next a memory so old it was incoherent, just the sound of a bawling child and running feet and a clamour in the background growing ever fainter. The smell of smoke; the feel of rough cloth. 

She had never told Nimueh half of what Merlin had revealed over those three nights on the Isle, but if she didn’t do something soon, Merlin would let it all slip anyway.

If Nimueh found out that they weren’t just going to Camelot to say thank you to Gaius, a man whom all three of them were deeply in debt to, and to free any imprisoned magic users they found there, if she found out what Merlin was planning to do and just how dangerous it was going to be …

_I’m sure you’ll be keeping an eye on us,_ she said and severed the mental connection without a farewell. 

This was no sweet, coming-of-age task for an amusingly ill-matched pair. This could change everything. They could change everything. 

\---

They found the ruins of Ealdor as night began to fall. At least, she assumed that was what they had found, based on Merlin’s sudden refusal to walk any further. All she could see was a gigantic grassy area spread out at the bottom of the slope they stood on, with stones sticking up in irregular patterns that could, if you squinted, be foundations. She looked sideways at Merlin, who was staring ahead with tears glittering in his eyes.

“Merlin - ” she began, but at the sound of her voice Merlin jogged down to the field. She sat on the slope and watched the sun set, watched the colour bleed out of the world, watched everything and anything to keep her from interfering when she clearly wasn’t wanted. It was a cloudy night, so soon she could barely see her sword gleam when she drew it slightly from its scabbard, and Merlin was just a shifting, restless patch of darkness down below.

_What are you looking for?_ she asked eventually, wondering if he would hear her, or reply if he did.

A flash of something pale in the darkness; he was staring up at her. _I don’t know._

She went down the hill so quickly that she slipped on her cold, bloodless feet and landed on her ankle. Grimacing, she limped over the field to Merlin. He was sat in the middle of one of the more complete groups of stones, clutching the small carved dragon pendant around his neck. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

_I don’t know what I’m looking for. I don’t know why I’m here._ He ran his fingers through the long grass. She grabbed that hand and held it tightly. He looked at her and tried to smile. _I thought I might remember something … recognise something. So -_  
“ – stupid.” He whispered the word with vehemence. She shook her head and wrapped him in her arms, pressing his cold, teary face into her neck. “It was twenty years ago,” he mumbled, his breath hot against her skin. “I was less than a year old; I was never going to remember anything. There was never going to be anything … left. Stupid.”

“She was your mother.” Morgana shook her head again. “It’s never stupid to wonder about your mother.” She felt the familiar pang of her own situation, and realised as his lips curled on her pulse that he had remembered it too.

“I’ll hold you too.”

It was a cruel thing to say, in a way; ‘You won’t find any reminder of her, either, not even the explanation you long for,’ but at the same time it was a promise that made her heart sing. Maybe Camelot would reveal information to her about her mysterious mother, Vivienne. Maybe not. She could cope with ‘not’, if Merlin was there.

“It’s far too cold to sit here all night,” she said at last. Merlin nodded and sighed, and wriggled out of her embrace like a bored child. He flicked his hand and a globe of white light appeared above them. She made to get to her feet, but winced and gasped at the pain in her ankle. Merlin frowned and focused his attention on it – only to be distracted by Morgana prodding his shoulder. “Oh no you don’t. Let me do something, for once!”

Merlin’s ability to perform relatively complex magic wordlessly had meant that throughout the journey so far he had always lit the fires, dried the clothes, made all his little wooden dragons spring to ‘life’ as sentinels and so on first, often before she had even thought of it, certainly before she had ever finished the necessary phrase. Now, jokingly watching him all the time as she would an eager dog being told to wait, she put her hand on her slightly swollen ankle and whispered,

“Þurhhæle mīn ancléow.” The pain and swelling vanished in an instant. His lips twitched and amusement fought through the thick veil of grief over his eyes for a second.

“Superiority reasserted, is it?”

Now it was her turn to stick her tongue out at him. 

They left the ruined village behind them and climbed the slope again, grabbing their things and preparing to make a shelter amongst the trees. The idea of sleeping in that field made Morgana feel sick. Its lush grass was fertilised by flesh and bone and ash. Instead they made camp under an oak tree on a reasonably flat piece of ground, ate (they were running out of packed provisions; she’d have to hunt tomorrow) and then curled up together. Merlin barely spoke throughout all this.

She didn’t realise that she had dropped off to sleep until she heard a noise and awoke. The clouds had cleared, leaving the world bright but colourless, and the air was silent and tense. Quietly she reached for her sword and sat up, curling her legs underneath her ready to spring to her feet. So close to the border of two kingdoms, this was bandit land.

Two figures emerged from behind a tree. She shifted so her back was against the trunk of the large oak tree and readied herself to charge. It felt good to be holding a sword again, and even better to be about to use it on someone who really deserved it. A gleam in the faint light confirmed that they too were armed, but she was barely unnerved by this knowledge. Two ruffians against the swordwomanship of a High Priestess? The odds were tilted firmly in her favour.

She shifted her stance and headed for the closest man. He saw her at the last minute, swore viciously, and raised his sword. Just as their swords were about to clash, as her blood sang with battle-lust, an overwhelming concussive force brushed past her. It knocked her to her knees.

The bandits were smashed through three young trees and ended up in a heap of blood and splinters many feet away. 

“Sorry,” Merlin said from behind her. She scrambled to her feet and turned to him, adrenalin still running full blast through her blood. He stood on top of his blanket, eyes wide, hand still outstretched.

“-What-?” She tried to make it clear that if she were a rougher woman, that one snarled word would be followed by multiple expletives. 

He didn’t quite meet her eyes. Or rather, he did, but there was nothing in his eyes to suggest he’d realised he was even looking at her. He looked like he might fall over at any second.

“Twenty years ago, my mother told my father to abandon her to burn and die in this … this graveyard … to save me. A month and a half ago, my father threw himself in front of bandits without a proper grip on his sword. To save me.” He swallowed. Shook his head. “I won’t allow you to save me, too.” Sure enough, his hand didn’t lower until she resheathed her sword.

What could she say to that? What the … sorry, Nimueh, and sorry to the mother she too had never known for the unladylike language she was about to use … what the fuck could she say to such desperate, idiotic selflessness?

She barely slept for the rest of that night. She would have thought she hadn’t slept at all, except she woke with a vague image of an ornate dagger in her mind. Merlin was no comfort; he woke seconds after her and yelled at the sky,  
“Shut up already, I’m nearly there!”  
 _Dragon again?_ she asked. Merlin nodded and rubbed his forehead. His expression was pained.

\---

Three days later, they reached Camelot.

“It’s so big!” Morgana marvelled as they wandered through the streets. “I used to be surprised by some of the big towns Nimueh and I bartered in, but this is just …” She trailed off to crane her neck up and around. “You can’t even see where the buildings start to thin out! And there are so many people!”

“Could you sound more like a first-time visitor?” Merlin grumbled. Morgana glared at him.

“You’re telling me this doesn’t surprise you?”

He shrugged and smiled reluctantly. “Never been somewhere this big before, no. But it’s good. The more people there are, the less we’ll stick out.”

“The only things sticking out are your ears.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Sorry, are you a year older than me or not?”

“Shut up.” She took yet another longing look at the scabbard hanging from Merlin’s belt. “You took my sword. I now have no respect for you whatsoever.”

“How many times, Morgana, girls who aren’t immature, stuck-up priestess don’t carry swords!”

She didn’t bother replying to that, tugging irritably at her travel-stained dress instead. He was right; she wasn’t used to trying to be inconspicuous. The towns she and Nimueh visited knew who they were and the people treated them with levels of respect from indifference to reverence depending on their connections to the magical community. There was none of this … sneaking. No ancient sword of the Old Religion being slung haphazardly around the hips of a skinny, pale hermit determinedly trying to carry out his father’s dying wish.

“See?” Merlin pointed to two figures cloaked in dark green walking through the marketplace. Their huge hoods hid their faces, but it looked like a father and child. “They stand out, but far less than you would in your full dress-and-sword costume.”

Morgana recognised the cloaks instantly. “They’ve picked a very, very bad place to be conspicuous.” She tried not to stare at them, in case the man had ever seen her before.

“Why?”

She felt smug again, in-the-know. All the same, she was careful to keep her voice low. “They’re Druids.”

“Huh?”

Happily she spent the rest of the walk explaining as much of the Druid customs as she could remember from their occasional contact with the Priestesshood. Finally they arrived in the heart of Camelot. The gigantic castle towered over them, but Merlin seemed unawed. He started walking straight towards the entrance.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Morgana whispered, grabbing his arm and hauling him back. He looked at her with confusion.

“Going to find Gaius, of course.”

“What, so you’re just going to walk up and ask one of those guards?” She pointed to the red-cloaked figures. “That’s the main entrance to the castle! If you’re lucky they’ll ask who you are before throwing you down the steps, and probably stealing my sword because it really doesn’t look like it belongs to you!”

Merlin started to go pink. Secretly pleased he was listening, Morgana carried on;

“Gaius is the court physician, isn’t he?”

Merlin nodded. 

“So he’ll need to buy supplies! All we need to do is find a stallholder who knows him.”

They combed the stalls closest to the castle, searching for stalls that sold medicinal herbs. Merlin was the first to spot a large stall bearing chamomile and willow-bark, and they hurried over.

“Good day,” Morgana began, “we’re searching for the court physician, Gaius and wondered if you knew where we might find him?”

The red-haired woman scrutinised them both. “You two bain’t from round here, are ye?”

Neither are you, with that accent, Morgana thought. That’s a Deiran accent if ever I’ve heard one.

“What you be wanting with Gaius?”

Morgana’s brain ground to a halt. She hadn’t thought of a plausible reason. Just as the silence reached critical point and she saw the woman’s dark eyes begin to narrow, Merlin burst in;

“We’ve come to thank him. He saved our lives when we were children.” He gave her a big, brilliant grin. Her round face softened and she looked at them both again.

“Are ye brother and sister?”

Morgana opened her mouth, only to close it abruptly and wince as Merlin stood on her foot. 

“Yes, unfortunately.” He laughed. The stallholder joined in, and, thoroughly charmed, proceeded to tell them how to find Gaius’ quarters. 

“Be nice, though. He’s a bit tetchy, like.” The stallholder stared at Morgana, who went hot with irritation and had to bite her tongue, hard.

“What was that look she gave me for?” she demanded as they walked away.

“You were acting like a priestess again. All proud and superior.”

“I -am- a priestess.” The reply was automatic. Merlin scoffed and shook his head. “What?” She thought she knew the answer already, so watched her feet instead of his face.

“You’ve never had to hide, have you? Never had to live in fear of someone finding what you are.”

She brought her head back up and fixed him with an intense look. “I’m not afraid of anybody!”

He laughed. She felt like she might explode from frustration. Casting a careful, casual look right and left, she rounded on him. “I’m not! I can outfight every man I’ve ever faced without even needing to use magic!”

Merlin sped up and muttered, “You really can’t do quiet and calm, can you? Even if it might kill us?”

She refused to give in. Yes, she understood this was a ridiculously dangerous place to be having this discussion, but maybe the risk would make him listen?

“You don’t need to be afraid either! You’re at least as powerful as I am - ”

He stopped dead and took a firm step towards her, planting himself thoroughly in her personal space. His eyes were fierce. “You don’t know how strong I am, Morgana. I’m willing to bet you don’t even know how strong Nimueh is, because you’ve never seen her pushed to her limit. You should always be afraid of everyone until you’ve seen who they truly are and what they’re truly capable of, and if you’re lucky, finding that out doesn’t kill you!”

He stomped on ahead. She dashed to keep up with him and grabbed his shoulder. She went on tiptoe to put her face almost as close as his had been a second ago, and asked,

“Are you afraid of me, Merlin?” 

He leant down and kissed her, pushing her feet back against the ground, and smiled when he straightened up. “No.”

\---

Merlin’s brief moment of manliness didn’t last. After he had dithered in front of the solid wooden door they had been directed to for a good twenty seconds, white-faced and twitchy, she slapped him out of the way and knocked on the door herself.

“Hello? Gaius?”

Heavy footsteps. “Hello?” A wary tone of voice.

“May we enter?” Morgana put all the little-girl sweetness into her voice that she could.

The door creaked open, and an old man shuffled forwards to stand in the doorway. His hair was white and wild and his skin wrinkled with age, but his stocky physique spoke of the good living to be found at Camelot court. He gazed at them both for so long that Morgana flushed and Merlin started to shuffle his feet.

“You’re not ill,” he proclaimed. His eyes narrowed.

“No,” Morgana agreed. She swallowed, uncertain how to proceed. Merlin was still shuffling his feet at her side. All of a sudden, he took a step forwards and blurted out,

“I’m Merlin. Balinor and Hunith’s son.”

Gaius’ eyes widened and his caterpillar eyebrows shot up his forehead. He stared at Merlin as if he was a ghost. Merlin stared back, jaw set but trembling. Morgana brushed the back of her hand against his comfortingly. The movement seemed to jolt both men back to their senses; Gaius stepped back and ushered them inside with quick jerky flaps of his hands. 

“Are you really?” he asked as soon as the heavy door was closed behind them. Merlin nodded. He pulled his dragon pendant as far out as the leather cord would reach. Gaius inspected it closely.

“Balinor’s handiwork, yes.” He peered at Merlin again. “And Hunith’s eyes, too.” The woman’s name made his craggy face soften. “Your mother and I were friends for many years. I was devastated when I heard of the travesty at Ealdor.” He blew out his cheeks with a puff of air, and suddenly his face broke into a wide grin. “As far as I knew, you and your father perished there as well. So this is wonderful news.” He looked over their shoulder at the closed door. “Is Balinor here too?”

“No.” Merlin tucked the dragon pendant back under his shirt. He took a deep breath in and out. “He died about a month ago. It’s just me left.” 

A muscle twitched in Gaius’ cheek and he briefly lowered his head. “My condolences, Merlin.”

Merlin’s smile was small and wobbly. “Thanks.”

“And who are you, my dear?” Gaius turned to Morgana expectantly. She started to recite her title again, but caught herself after “I am”. He tilted his head to one side, curious. “Are you Balinor’s daughter?”

“No!” She tossed her head. “Why do people keep thinking we’re related?”

Merlin chuckled, tried to stop as she glared at him, and shrugged. “Don’t look at me. I don’t know.”

“I’m not his sister.” She straightened and let the poise of a priestess cover her nerves. “I’m Morgana;Vivienne’s daughter.”

For a split second Gaius’ eyes were blank, but then recognition hit him hard enough that he blinked.

“Vivienne’s daughter, of course!” He grinned again. “The past is catching up on me today.” He coughed. “Vivienne and … Gorlois?”

Morgana frowned at the odd tone in his voice. “I don’t know who my father is. Nimueh would never tell me.”

“No?” Something visibly changed in Gaius; it took Morgana a second to work out that he had been practically rigid with tension, a lot of which was now seeping away. “It’s quite amusing how similar you both look.” Yes, Gaius looked far more relaxed as he eased himself into a wooden chair. “Pale skin, dark hair … there’s something else, too …” His eyebrows wriggled together in puzzlement. “Would you two mind …” he prodded a heavy book on the table behind him, “… catching this?”

The book slid off the table. As usual Merlin caught it silently while Morgana was halfway through her spell, so she changed it to make the book move instead of halt. It flew towards Merlin at a dangerous velocity. He swore and made it fall to the floor.  
“Morgana!” He looked so confused, bless him. She smirked and wiggled her fingers at him. “What did that prove?” she asked Gaius.  
He raised both hands in a gesture of ‘who knows?’.

“An old man’s interest. Your magic is the same colour. It’s probably meaningless.”

“How did you know we both had magic?” Merlin slid down the wall as he spoke, landing in a comfortable pile of arms and legs on the floor. Eyeing the dust, Morgana stayed standing. Gaius snorted.

“With your father, if you hadn’t have had the gift something would have had gone drastically wrong.” He nodded towards Morgana. “Just a hunch with you, my dear.”

Morgana knew he was lying. She didn’t know how she knew. It was as if somebody had opened up her head and dropped the solid fact in her head. He knew why she had magic and had flat-out lied about it. Why was he lying? What was he hiding?

“So what can I do for you two, then?” Gaius spread his hands expansively. Morgana watched their every twitch, remembering only now what Nimueh had told her, that Gaius wasn’t only a magic sympathiser. He had ‘the gift’ as he had just put it.

Merlin muttered something sheepishly about ‘a square meal would be quite nice, really’. Gaius levered himself out the chair and pottered around the cluttered room, obligingly collecting plates and a hunk of bread while cranking out elderly witticisms that made Merlin laugh. Morgana stood by the door and sank her teeth further and further into the inside of her cheek. Everything he did looked fake now. What was the old man planning? Oh, how she wished she had her sword. 

If only she could be completely certain that her suspicions were true, then she could tell Merlin and get him out of here. But she couldn’t be sure, and Merlin seemed perfectly happy, and he was the one who’d wanted to come here in the first place, and, wait, hadn’t he just a short time ago told her how important is was to be always be wary, always on your guard?  


“So,” Gaius mumbled through a mouthful of bread, “what brings you to me today?”  


And wasn’t this man supposed to be the closest thing Uther had to a confidante?  


Panic had a vice round her throat, but she managed to choke out,“T-to say thank you - ” before Merlin said in that familiar hard voice born from rage and grief,  


“To free the dragon.”  


Something shifted deep in Gaius’ expression even as he smiled indulgently. Morgana’s restraint snapped; she lunged for Merlin, covering his body with hers, and yelled out the strongest escape spell she could think of;  


“Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonwearde!”  


Wind kicked up around them and swirled them away.  


\---

They had covered almost no distance at all when she felt another magic fighting against hers. Desperately, she flung everything she could into the spell. They hovered stationary for several seconds, deadlocked, then her opposition faded dramatically. She felt relieved for a moment, before she registered the hands on her face and the urgent voice in her head;  


_Morgana! Morgana, what the hell?  
_

_He’s lying!_ she projected. _We have to get away!  
_

_Don’t be stupid!  
_

They were both tiring, and as the winds died down she saw with a sense of shame that they had only travelled about twenty feet from Gaius’ blown-open door.  


“He’s lying,” she repeated, out of breath. “And he did something to you in there, to make you trust him.” Merlin scoffed, equally breathless, and sat down abruptly.  


“No, she’s right, young man.” Gaius came out of his room and walked towards them. “I did indeed activate a calming charm that I keep dormant for emergencies. It’s very subtle; very few magic-users can sense anything is different.”  


Morgana ignored the compliment. “Why?” All Nimueh’s training was paying off; Morgana badly wanted to collapse on the floor next to Merlin but she visualised a backbone made from iron and breathed deeply.  


Gaius looked very old all of a sudden. “Call it caution. Two young, powerful sorcerers walk into the heart of Camelot, at least one of whom has the family history to have a blood debt to deal to Uther.”  


Morgana kicked herself for not seeing it that way before. They should have been so much more careful.  


“Why not call the guards if you suspected we were here to kill the king?”  


Gaius ignored her question.  


“I have been told that the magical community doesn’t know how much they should hate me. You two are by far not the only people whose lives I saved in any way I could when the Purge began. But I renounced my magic and remained at Uther’s side, as one of the only members of the court nowadays who remembers him from before the Queen’s death.” He pursed his lips. “I can’t move actively against the King. I won’t.”  


There was a pregnant silence.  


“Does this mean you’ll hand us over to the guards?” Morgana asked again, more loudly. Gaius sighed.  


“No, I won’t tell anyone that there are two incredibly powerful sorcerers running around the castle. But neither will I tell you where to find the dragon.” His eyes fell on Merlin. “If you have inherited your father’s power, the dragon will already have found you.”  


Merlin returned Gaius’ gaze and with a slow movement that appeared subconscious, he rubbed his forehead. Gaius nodded, and Merlin leapt to his feet.  


“Come on!” he ordered Morgana and began to run. She hurried after him, but threw a final, bemused glance over her shoulder at the strange old man with his divided loyalties.  


They were jogging past the door by which they had entered the castle when the plea hit them both so hard that Morgana stopped running and Merlin nearly fell over.  


_Help! Please, help!  
_

Morgana’s blood turned to ice. She remembered the red-cloaked guards and a lifetime of tales about the atrocities Uther visited upon people with magic, and it was only the youth of the voice that stopped her fleeing again.  


She looked at Merlin, whose wide eyes showed that he was having a similar battle. His wasn’t with fear, though –  


\- _I have to find him_ –  


\- his battle was with his desire to honour his father, and he seemed paralysed by the conflict.  


_Please, help me.  
_

Morgana stuck her head out of the door and looked around the small courtyard full of barrels. Thankfully she didn’t need to search for long; uncontrolled, panicked magic was pulsing like torchlight in the dark. Its source was the little boy Merlin had pointed out earlier, dressed so conspicuously in a green cloak that appeared far too big for him and now hiding behind one of the bigger barrels. He looked up as soon as her gaze landed on him. His huge blue eyes saw straight through her. The sensation made her gasp.  


_Please, they’re coming to get me.  
_

Fear was nearly winning the battle; forget the truth of her power and her combat abilities, now she was stuck in a fairy-tale castle and the ogre was coming. Just as she was about to push past it all and run to the boy, someone else beat her to it.  
That dissolved the ice holding her in place; if a citizen of Camelot was helping the child then she wouldn’t stand out as much. She ran.  


The woman crouched over the little boy was dark-skinned and stocky with the sort of face that lent itself first to cheerful friendliness, not to its current worry.  


“Who are you?”  


“A friend of Gaius,” Morgana answered distractedly. _Take off the cloak, she ordered the boy.  
_

\- _But … A vague feeling of concern.  
_

_I don’t care what you’re not wearing underneath, get it off now. It’s like a big green arrow pointing at you.  
_

He gave her a little smile, she didn’t know why. Maybe he liked the idea of big green arrows. She and the dark-skinned woman helped him wriggle out of the cloak, and Morgana stuffed it deep inside the barrel.  


“Did you say you were a friend of Gaius?”  


“Yes.” Her voice was muffled by the barrel. “Why?”  


“I think we should take him there.”  


Morgana crouched back down and saw the blood seeping from a wound in the boy’s upper arm. She ground her teeth in frustration; if she had just run out a moment earlier so she was alone she could have healed this glorified cut in seconds. Now she had to take a small child with the Druidic knot tattooed on his chest for anyone with the knowledge to see and understand all the way back to a man she didn’t trust with a woman she didn’t know. This was ridiculous. Nimueh was probably watching her in that stupid scrying bowl and laughing at her.  


_Go without me, she told Merlin.  
_

_You sure?  
_

_Yes.  
_

_Thank you. Be careful._

\---

“What’s your name?” she asked the woman as they hurried through the passageways each holding one of the boy’s hands.  


“I’m Guinevere, but please call me Gwen instead. I’m Lady Morgause’s maid.”  


“Nice to meet you.” They took several more steps before Morgana realised Gwen was silently, politely waiting for a reciprocal identification.  


“Oh! Sorry. I’m Morgana. I … I just started travelling a month ago.”  


“On your own?” They clattered up a staircase.  


“No.” Morgana stared at the little boy’s dark hair as she considered what to say. “Someone I met convinced me come to along.”  


“A boy?” The coyness in Gwen’s voice made Morgana blush as she nodded. “What’s he like?”  


“He’s confusing,” Morgana replied without needing to think. Gwen laughed breathlessly.  


“Aren’t they all?”  


Morgana smiled uncertainly. She couldn’t think of a time when she’d had this sort of girly talk. She’d heard it happening all around her in the towns she visited, of course, but on the Isle it was just her and Nimueh. She had learnt very quickly that asking Nimueh anything either got you stony silence or graphic, detailed answers that were best avoided at all costs. 

\---

They returned to Gaius’ chambers. Morgana stood near the window and fidgeted from foot to foot. If Gwen would just stop fussing over the boy and leave, he could be as good as new in no time. She didn’t understand why Gaius wasn’t trying to get the well-meaning girl to leave. It wouldn’t be difficult, surely? Just pretend he needed some hard-to-find herb and she would clearly jump on the chance to help.  


“Anything I can do to help, Gaius?” She caught his eye and briefly flashed her magic. His eyebrows shot up again.  


“Um, well, certainly, my dear -” Just as he was turning to Gwen and opening his mouth to presumably send her away, the door burst open and Merlin skidded into the room. He locked eyes with Morgana.  


“We need an arte - ”  


_Shut up!_ she told him viciously. He blinked at her, wounded, then refocused on the rest of the room, specifically Gwen, and his mouth fell open in a small ‘o’ of surprised understanding. He turned to Gwen and smiled at her.  


“Hi.”  


“Pleased to meet you!” She smiled back sunnily and held eye contact for a fraction too long. Jealousy raced through Morgana’s blood like fire and she left her spot by the window to put an arm around his waist. Gwen’s eyes widened and she made a tiny hand gesture of surrender.  


“Gwen.” All attention in the room turned to Gaius who was fiddling with a pestle and mortar. “These two have medical knowledge and will be able to help me best. I’m sure Lady Morgause would enjoy your company.”  


Gwen tried to protest, but must have seen something in Gaius’ face because she smiled again and dipped her head to him.  


“It was nice to meet you both,” she said to Morgana and Merlin as she left.  


“We need to find - ” Merlin began again. Morgana ignored him and concentrated instead on the little boy.  


_What’s your name?  
_

_Mordred. What’s yours?  
_

_I’m Morgana. Hold still now.  
_

“Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare.” The wound closed as if it had never been.  


“We need to get him back to the Druids,” Morgana told Merlin. He pulled a reluctant face.  


“We need to find a powerful artefact of the Old Religion,” he insisted. “Only something like that can cut the dragon’s chains.”  


“If we don’t get Mordred back to his people, Merlin, the guards could find him!” She shot a sideways glance at Gaius. “It puts both of them at tremendous risk! You know what Uther will do.”  


Merlin shrugged. His expression was sour. Fire burnt through Morgana’s body again, this time as anger.  


“The dragon can wait, Merlin! It’s waited twenty years!”  


“Don’t call him an ‘it’! His name is Kilgarrah. He remembers my father.” Merlin’s eyes were shiny with tears but hard with his own anger. Morgana grabbed his arm and shook it as hard as she could. She felt lightheaded with rage.  


“If killing this little boy would bring your father back, Merlin, would you do that too?”  


That brought him up short. He stared at her for several long seconds as the tension drained out of him.  


“No,” he answered at last. “No, of course not.”

\---

_Thank you, Morgana and Emrys,_ Mordred said from where he stood in the embrace of a fully grown Druid.  
 _You’re welcome._ Morgana smiled at him, and he smiled back. It was small and shy and made her really want to hug him.  


“Emrys?” Merlin tilted his side to the side, confused. Mordred kept smiling.  


_That’s your name._

\---

They walked away from the Druid camp. Morgana was enjoying the weight of her sword by her side so much that she didn’t notice for a good half an hour that Merlin was unusually quiet.  


“Do you know where we could find that sort of Old Religion thing?” he asked her eventually.  


She bit her lip. Yes, she knew exactly where to find it. The Rowan Staff of the Triple Goddess was the most powerful magical item in all of the Five Kingdoms. It was, however, wielded by Nimueh.  


The best case scenario was that she agreed to come with them and do the deed – except she wouldn’t, because she had blood-sworn never to set foot in Camelot again, and Uther had sworn to kill her on sight if he could. She would never let Morgana wield the Staff; that would be like handing over superiority.  


“Morgana?”  


“I’m thinking.”  


That suggested two options. Fight her for it, which every bone in Morgana’s body rejected as impossible, or steal it. Which would brand her Nimueh’s enemy for life, bereft of the only home and family she had ever known.  


Could she lose the last remnants of her family so that Merlin could regain the last of his?  


“I don’t know.” She didn’t realise she’d whispered that aloud until Merlin replied.  


“What, you don’t know about one, or you don’t know where to find it, or … ?”  


She looked up at him. His beautiful face with its long lashes and high cheekbones, and those soft blue eyes. She ran a finger down his cheek.  


“I’ll keep thinking about it.” She took his hand, closed her eyes and swallowed hard when he squeezed it and grinned at her. “I suppose we’ll just have to see what happens.”  


He seemed quite content with that.

**Author's Note:**

> Morgana commenting the stallholder had a "Derian" accent refers to the Anglo-Saxon kingdom of Deria, which, to quote Wikipedia; "extended from the Humber to the Tees, and from the sea to the western edge of the Vale of York." Her accent is laughable, but any other way of writing that dialogue came out feeling wrong. Oh, the weird moment when a one-line character dictates herself to you. o0
> 
> The spellwork here is in Old English - some I copied from the Merlin wiki, some I threw together myself, and one or two I did both. XD The latters are doubtless terribly wrong, but I had no time to get them checked, sorry! :(
> 
> Translations:  
> “Ic wieldee þæs héahsácerdes sweorde.” = I wield the high-priestess' sword  
> “Hiera cláþas áfléah feor!” = His clothes fly far  
> “Þurhhæle mīn ancléow.” I thoroughly heal my ankle  
> “Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonwearde!” = Conceal us! Guide us away from here!  
> “Ic þe þurhhæle þin licsare.” = I thee heal thoroughly your wound
> 
> Thanks for reading; any and all comments appreciated. :)


End file.
